


This Harvest Moon

by goingmywaydoll



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Married Life, One Shot Collection, When did that happen?, because they're married?, like what?, when did my otp actually get a (semi) happy ending?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingmywaydoll/pseuds/goingmywaydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person"</p><p>or</p><p>the one where Mary and Francis fall in love repeatedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Be Continued

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, this wasn't supposed to be a story. I originally set out to write a one sentence text post on Tumblr saying I wanted more scenes of Mary and Francis in bed together and it turned into this. 
> 
> So, yeah, I think this will be a collection of one-shots about married life because guys, /they're actually married/.
> 
> The title comes from the Neil Young song. I don't own it, nor do I own Reign. I wish I did because then Lola would be with Bash and Francis and Mary would have ten thousand children. But I'm not bitter (ish).

Francis thinks his favorite part of the day is the morning, when the sun filters through the window, creating shadows across the bed and waking him of its own accord. When Mary is curled against him, her body warm against his, her eyes closed, her brow unfurrowed. He never thought that the moments spent in bed would be the best of their marriage but the small pleasures lie when Mary blows out the candles beside the bed, crawling in next to him and nestling herself in his arms. A small brown lock falls in Mary’s face and Francis brushes it aside lightly, careful not to wake her. However, her eyes do flicker open, squinting in the light.

“’Morning,” she sighs sleepily, smiling lightly at him as she rubs her eyes of sleep.

“Good morning,” he replies, replicating her smile. She adjusts her body so she is facing him, her face inches from his and he turns on his side so he can look at her more easily.

“So, what is on the agenda today for the future king of France?” she asks.

Francis frowns, pretending to think before he says briskly, “Well, I have several meetings with some courtiers who no doubt want to win my favor. My father has a counsel meeting he wishes me to attend and there are several subjects coming from the village that I have to receive. There is also the Queen of Bean festival today, so I’m sure the festivities will keep my hands full.”

“So busy,” she says, frowning disappointedly.

“I’m afraid I won’t have any time at all for you,” he says flippantly, biting back a smile as Mary’s face falls. “In fact, I’d better get started right now.”

He throws the sheets aside, reaching for his breeches on the floor as Mary gapes at him, shaking her head slowly. They usually allow themselves at least fifteen minutes in bed together, to talk of nothing of importance and forget who they are for some few precious moments. They are the highlight of Francis’ day and each time Mary’s ladies come in to prepare her for the day, his heart pangs in disappointment.

“You,” she says, sitting up and reaching for his arm, “Are not going anywhere.”

She grasps his arm, pulling him back onto the bed and pressing her lips to his. He responds eagerly, smiling against her lips, giving up on his teasing. He crawls back on the bed as her hands go to the back of his neck, tugging at his hair as she pulls him closer. Their marital haze envelops them as Francis pulls at her lip with his teeth and she moans against him. They are both painfully aware of their lack of clothing as Francis’ lips move to her neck, surely leaving a mark. Mary’s head falls against the pillow as Francis moves on top of her and continues leaving kisses along her neck and collarbone.

A sudden knock at the door causes Francis to roll off her and Mary to quickly pull the sheets up to her chest. A young page comes in, bowing slightly and blushing as he takes in the Dauphin and Dauphine of France.

“Excuse me, your Grace, but his Majesty King Henry wishes to see you in the throne room,” the page says. Francis and Mary both nod and Francis gestures for the page to leave, which he does.

“The poor boy! He must be shocked to death,” Mary says, laughing but blushing all the same. Mary’s continuing embarrassment of others knowing of their intimate relationship is one of her most endearing qualities. He often brushes her lower back as he walks up to her to stand beside her and he can feel her stiffen at his touch. There was once an incident where they were looking over maps of Scotland and England in the maps room and he was so drawn to her as she discussed battle strategies that she ended up against the table, with his lips against her neck when five courtiers walked in. Mary didn’t stop blushing for the rest of the day and she still couldn’t look any of them in the eye.

“He’ll survive,” Francis brushes off. “It’s not as if he’s surprised.”

At this, his lips twitch in a smile. Both he and Mary heard servants gossiping about the newly wedded couple, how in love they seemed and the various situations they found themselves in. Many of the stories were made up, of course, but some were embarrassingly true.

“All the same, I’ll never look at him in the eye again,” she says.

“There are already too many people in court we can not look in the eye,” Francis points out.

“Well, it isn’t _my_ fault!” she says. Francis’ jaw drops.

“If you didn’t parade around court wearing those low cut dresses, I wouldn’t feel the need to kiss you all the time!” he shoots back and Mary looks indignant.

“I don’t _parade_ around court!” she says. “If you didn’t feel the need to kiss me senseless every time you saw me, I wouldn’t want you to kiss me again. In public, no doubt!”

“So it comes down to my skills as a husband then,” he says, grinning cockily.

“That’s not what I said.” She flushes red again and Francis looks triumphant.

“Tell me more about this senseless kissing,” he whispers as he leans in closer to her. Mary bites her lip, her eyes flickering to his. He knows her signs of wanting to kiss him so he’s quite surprised when Mary looks at him through her lashes, less than an inch away from his lips and pulls away, smiling satisfactorily before slipping off the bed and putting on her robe.

“Maybe later,” she whispers enigmatically and he swallows back his desire for her.

“Five minutes longer?” he asks and Mary laughs at his endearing pout.

“You’re a child!” she says, but her eyes are dancing as Francis shrugs, reaching for her arm to pull her to him. Mary pushes him away lightly.

“We can’t keep your father waiting,” she says, tying the robe around her waist. Francis leans towards her, fiddling with the tie and opening up her robe again before kissing her neck. He can tell Mary is trying not to let his kisses affect her but he can also tell she is failing at it.

“He can wait five minutes,” he mumbles against her neck. Mary nearly gives in, but grabs his shoulders, pushing him away reluctantly.

“You know your father doesn’t like to be kept,” she says and pulls the robe around her once more before walking out of Francis’ reach.

“Fine. But we will continue this later,” he acquiesces.

“Without a doubt,” Mary says, grinning at him as she shrugs off the robe to replace with her corset and he pulls on his breeches. “Will you…?” She gestures to her corset and Francis nods, walking around the bed to her. His nimble fingers pick up the laces to her corset as he frowns, trying to figure it out. After several moments of nothing, Mary turns to look at him. On Francis’ face is a look of utter mystification and she bursts into laughter when she sees him.

“Don’t laugh!” he says indignantly. “It’s complicated!”

But Mary continues to laugh at his defensive face.

“Fine, I’ll try again,” he says, his face determined. He gestures at her to turn again and she does so before Francis begins his work again. He brushes her long hair over her shoulder lightly and Mary shivers at his touch. He notices this and smirks slightly at his affect on her. He drops the laces and instead presses a kiss to the back of her neck. Mary’s eyes flutter closed at his touch and she leans back against him. He puts his hands on her hips, turning her around so that they can face each other. He moves his lips to hers tenderly as Mary pulls him closer, her hands on the back of his neck. Her corset is loose around her body and would be easy to take off. He is about to do so when their door opens yet again, three girls entering.

Mary springs away from him, pulling up her corset as Greer, Kenna and Lola take in the scene before them. Francis looks down, realizing he is only wearing his breeches and goes to pick his shirt up off the floor. After pulling it over his head, he catches sight of the truly spectacular shade of red Mary’s face has become as her friends avoid their gazes.

“Good morning, then,” Greer says, falsely bright. Kenna looks as if she is going to burst into laughter and Lola won’t look at them, too awkward to do so.

“You’re supposed to put your corset _on_ in the morning, Mary, not off,” Kenna says, walking towards her friend and smiling suggestively all the way. Francis tries not to laugh at her comment. She frowns, as if thinking over her words then adds, “Well, I suppose that one’s on Francis, though.”

“ _Kenna_!” Mary chastises, her face impossibly redder than before.

“What? You needn’t act so chaste. I was there on your wedding night.” She shrugs as if it is no matter. “Anyways, we need to dress you. The King is getting impatient.”

“I’ll go try and appease him,” Francis says as he picks up his doublet, pulling it on. He presses a kiss to the top of Mary’s head and nods to the other ladies. He walks over to the door, but just before he closes it behind him, he looks back at Mary, who’s eyes followed him out of the room. He winks at her, as if to say “To be continued.”


	2. Of Maps and Manhandling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this ask "There was once an incident where they were looking over maps of Scotland and England in the maps room and he was so drawn to her as she discussed battle strategies that she ended up against the table, with his lips against her neck when five courtiers walked in. Mary didn’t stop blushing for the rest of the day and she still couldn’t look any of them in the eye." Can you please take that and write a fic based on that?" from bow-tied-frenchfries on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some small liberties with the prompt because it was what made the most sense.

Mary woke late the day after they returned from their honeymoon. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and twisted around in her bed to face her husband. However, when she faced his usual spot on their bed beside her, there was a very obvious lack of her husband. Mary looked around the room, looking for some hint of his location but found nothing. She pulled a robe on over her bare body, shivering in the cold. The fire must have died out in the night, but she hadn’t noticed since Francis’ arms usually acted as a warming agent.

Francis’ mood last night came back to her and she sighed, annoyed at herself for not thinking of it sooner. His mother had pressured her on their lack of an heir and she and Francis had fought over it. His mother was anxious for them to have children, as were Mary and Francis, but Mary had mentioned in passing that it would be nice if people were kinder in going about it. Francis had evidently remembered it and practically yelled at his mother that she was only putting Mary under unneeded stress. Catherine had asked him if he wanted children, and Francis had snapped back “Of course I do! But I want them because I love my wife, not because I need an heir.” That had hit a nerve in Catherine and she stormed out of the room, leaving Mary to calm Francis down. Sometimes she thought Francis was too protective over her but she didn’t say this to him. Francis had gone to bed tense, even after their clothes migrated to the floor.

It was with this memory that Mary realized where Francis was. She called her ladies in to help her dress for the day quickly and made her way to the map room. One of the only things Francis had in common in this father was their way in releasing stress—ruling their country. So it was not with surprise that Mary entered the room, seeing her husband’s blond head bent over a table with a map of France on it. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt Francis relax at her touch and straighten his back before turning to face her.

“Don’t let her affect you this much,” Mary said, looking up at him softly.

“I just can’t stand that she thinks you’re just a way for me to get an heir. I won’t have my parents marriage, I refuse to,” he replied, sighing. 

“You won’t,” she reassured. “Truly, you won’t. And do you want to know why? Because you are not your father, and I am not your mother, thank God. I love you, Francis, and you love me. The mere fact that you are afraid of ending up like your parents shows that you won’t. We won’t let each other. How could we ever?”  
Francis smiled down at her thankfully. 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her and pulling into a hug.

“No idea,” she joked, grinning widely as he pulled away.

“Little minx,” he muttered, but his lips were curled in a smile. 

"So, what are you distracting yourself with this time?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from his. 

"There has been some unrest in Rouen and I'm trying to figure out who and what we need to send," he replied, turning back to the map of France. Mary frowned, running her fingers along the border, thinking hard.

"You don't need to waste soldiers to put down some unrest, we don't want to just go and slaughter them. Send a representative to see how imperative soldiers are and they can tell you how many they need. That way, you can send more to the border of Germany and not risk lives," Mary suggested, her eyes trained on the map. Francis looked up, staring at her with wonder and admiration in his eyes. Mary finally looked up to gage his reaction, only to be met by his lips. 

They had been married for three months and still the sensation of kissing Francis had not lost its affect on her. She was suddenly hyperaware of every sense in her body—the feel of his curls through her fingers, his lips against hers, the proximity to his body pressed against the table behind him, the smell of winter and paper and Francis. It wasn’t long before the kiss deepened, Francis opening her mouth with his tongue and nipping at her lower lip with his teeth. Mary pulled him closer, all the while tugging on his blond curls. Francis’ hands moved to her hips, spinning her around so she was propped against the table in a spurt of control. Her head fell back of its own accord as Francis slowly and torturously moved his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking at her skin all the way. Her corset was starting to feel impossibly tight and she felt as though she would burst out of her skin if Francis continued to do what he was doing to her neck.

Fortunately for Mary’s skin and unfortunately for their reputation, five courtiers had decided then to enter the room, discussing various issues in the country. Francis sprang away from her and Mary slipped off the table quickly, adjusting her dress. Francis’ blond curls were flying everywhere and Mary would have laughed if her face wasn’t turning into a tomato so quickly.

“Your Grace,” one of them said, bowing slightly.

“We were just…” Mary started.

“Going over maps,” Francis finished. The courtiers nodded shortly, avoiding their gaze.

"Yes, naturally," another said. 

“I just remembered, I have to write a letter to my mother,” Mary said suddenly, making something up to get out of the room as fast as she could.

“I really should go talk to my father about…England,” Francis added, nodding quickly.

“We won’t keep you,” one said and Mary smiled weakly before walking out of the room as fast as she could without looking too suspicious. Once the left the room and entered the corridor Mary let out a breath.

“We’re done for!” she said, throwing her arms in the air. Francis looked at her amusedly as they walked back towards their rooms. “The whole castle will know I can’t keep my hands off of you!”

“Well, it is true,” he said, shrugging. Mary shot him a look. “It’s all right, they’ll forget about it soon enough.”

“But I won’t,” she said. “I’ll never be able to look them in the eye again! They’ll think I’m some kind of whore who manhandles her husband in the map rooms!”

“You are not a whore,” Francis said, laughing. Once he stopped, he added suggestively, “However, I could do with some more of that manhandling…” 

“Francis!” she admonished, giving him another look. He smiled cheekily down at her. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I know,” he said. “But you love me anyways.”

“Heaven knows why,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Perhaps because of the manhandling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You’ll never let me live this down, will you?” she said, pouting slightly.

“I could be persuaded…” he said.

“Honestly,” she scoffed before walking further down the hallway, her husband trailing after her.

 

 

Later that night, Kenna was unlacing her corset as Greer told them about a suitor she had met that day who had sneezed in her face.

“You should have seen his face!” Greer said as the other girls laughed. “It was absolutely horrid.”

“So no to him?” asked Lola.

“A very adamant no,” Greer said, nodding. The four girls lapsed into silence as Mary slipped her nightdress on.

“So, Mary, what’s this I hear about you and a certain dauphin in the map room?” asked Kenna, breaking the silence. Mary groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands as her friends giggled at her magnificent blush.


	3. Screw the Binds of History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the binds of history are for stupid people and Mary and Francis get the happiness they deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I wrote a baby-fic and I regret it because now I really really need Mary to get pregnant. Like now. But seriously, this is full of fluff and cheese so be prepared.

“Mary?” calls Francis as he pokes his head into Nostradamus’ rooms. Mary is sitting on the bed, her fingers knotting and unknotting together. She looks up when she sees him, her lips stretching into a smile. Nostradamus looks up as well, seeing Francis at the door. He hands Mary a cup of something. 

“I shall leave you in peace,” he says, bowing slightly to the two of them. Francis nods at him before making his way to Mary. He kneels before, taking his hands in his.

“Are you all right? My mother said you were not feeling well,” he says, worry etched in his face.

“Yes, I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine. It seems that Henry and Charles are going to have a new playmate soon,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips as she looks at him expectantly. Francis frowns, looking at her questioningly, not understanding.

“You’re…” he says, shock registering on his face. Mary beams, nodding vigorously. “We’re going to have a child?”

“Yes!” she says, laughing in spite of herself. Francis gapes at her, still unraveling this new information. “Nostradamus says I have been with child for a month.”

“A month?” he breathes. “A baby. We’re going to have a baby.”

“We’re finally going to have everything we want,” she says, caressing his face. He puts his hand atop hers, biting his lip so that his face doesn’t split open with his smile.

“God, Mary,” he says before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers gently. When they break apart, there are tears in their eyes and matching smiles on their faces. Francis looks at Mary’s abdomen in wonder, putting his hand lightly over her stomach.

“What shall we name it? No, not it,” he amends. “Her, or him.”

“Francis, it’s only been a month!” she says, laughing.

“But we need to be prepared!” he protests. “We’ll need to get your dresses refitted! We can fix up your old rooms and use them as the nursery, perhaps?”

“Why don’t we have the baby first?” she says, but his small frown and excitement are endearing enough that his over-planning doesn’t matter.

“Right, have the baby first,” he says, nodding. “You won’t be allowed on horses, not until she is born, of course, and—“

“She? You’re sure we’ll have a girl?” she asks, smiling down at him. “You wouldn’t be…disappointed?”

“Mary, how could I be disappointed in our child?” he says, shaking his head. “Our child will be the most important figure in my life, tied only with you. We could have a boy, we could have a girl, they could be born with three eyes and I would still adore them greatly. As long as you are by my side with _our_ child, I will be blissfully happy.”

“As will I,” Mary says, smiling at her husband’s words. “However, I have disagree with you on our child’s gender.”

Francis raises an eyebrow.

“We’re going to have a boy, of course,” she says, as if it’s obvious.

“No, we’ll have a girl!” protests Francis.

“Francis, our child is inside _me_. I can tell we’re going to have a gorgeous boy with brown hair and blue eyes.”

“Fatherly instincts exist too, you know! _I_ can tell we’re going to have a beautiful girl with blond curls and brown eyes,” he retorts.

“Well, you fatherly instincts are wrong in this case,” she challenges and Francis looks affronted.

“You wound me, my dear!” he says dramatically.

“You can’t even take this seriously! Obviously, my senses are more in tune and more _correct_ ,” Mary says.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“Yes, we will.”

Their eyes meet again and Francis’ lips curl into a smile once more uncontrollably.

“Even if I’m wrong, which I’m not—“

“Which you are,” interrupts Mary.

“ _Which I’m not_ ,” he continues, “I will love our child with all my heart. As I will love you, until my dying breath.”

“And I you.” Mary pulls her face to hers, kissing him softly.

“We’re having a baby!” Francis says again when they break apart. “I cannot wait until you start showing. Real proof of our love.”

“Oh, I’ll become hideous!” she says, rolling her eyes.

“No, you’ll look beautiful,” says Francis seriously. “You always look beautiful.”

“You won’t be saying that when we’re old and wrinkled,” she says, waving her hand. Francis frowns at her, as if he doesn't understand what she is saying.

“Yes, I will," he corrects, squeezing her hands lightly to reassure her of him. "Even if you were a thousand years old, you would look beautiful. If you swelled to the size of whale, you would look beautiful. If you were as thin as a stick, you would look beautiful because you are always beautiful to me, Mary. Just as we vowed, in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, for richer for poorer.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” she asks, shaking her head and trying to hold back her tears.

“Nothing, for neither of us deserve each other. But you are still the great love of my life and only our baby will be able to hold that title from now on.” Francis presses a kiss to Mary’s head before standing up, offering his hand to her.

“Now, I believe we have some good news to share with everyone.”


	4. Without Saying the Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bash witnesses a scene by the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a roll with this stuff. I admit, I really like writing Bash watching Mary and Francis being in love. If it makes me a bad person, so be it. 
> 
> I just love the idea of Francis and Mary being pregnant and I am convinced that Mary would want a boy and Francis would want a girl. Francis would be so good with a daughter--he'd be all protective and call her his little princess and now I'm really sad because they never get that.
> 
> Oh, and I actually wrote part of this before Consummation came out so Francis and Bash saying goodbye is how I wanted it to go, not how it actually went. If only, if only.

He doesn’t mean to find them.

He really doesn’t—he isn’t that masochistic. It’s just that when you find yourself in love to someone who’s married to your (half) brother and your luck is that bad, you kind of just happen upon things you don’t want to.

Her cloak is lined with fur and is draped around her comfortably, keeping her warm from the lightly falling snow. She isn’t facing him, but he can see a small crown nesting on her dark hair and he would recognize her regal posture anywhere. She is walking slowly along the frozen lake’s edge, her hand resting on her torso. Her walk is leisurely but he can tell that her slow speed is not optional. She walks in an unnatural way, swaying from side to side with each step, as if she is carrying an extra weight.

A blond, regal man enters the scene, walking briskly up to her. His loose gait, his curly hair and doting smile hits Bash like a ton of bricks. He hasn’t seen his brother since the day he left court.

“You were my brother, the one person I could trust!” Francis had snapped, his glistening eyes revealing more to his mood than just anger. “How are we supposed to go back from this? Am I supposed to trust you again? After you took my throne and my fiancée? And don’t say you did it to save my life, I know you were in it for Mary.”

Bash had stood there, waiting as his brother threw accusations at him, accusations that were unfortunately true and founded.

“You have to leave. You and Mary sparked unrest in France and we cannot have more of that. My line is reverted but you committed near treason. People will want to punish you. If we send you away quickly, they won’t find you.”

“So you’re protecting me?” Bash had asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“After all this, you’re still my brother,” Francis had said and Bash was left to deal with a sense of guilt at what he had done to his brother. “I don’t want you dead, but others do. I will arrange a passage for you to Spain and you’ll be safe.”

Bash had nodded and watched as Francis walked away from him. Just as he was about to turn away, another figure turned into the corridor. Mary froze when she saw Francis walking away from Bash. She looked to her fiancée, a questioning look in her eyes. Francis took her hands in his and whispered something to her. She nodded, looked at Bash once more and guided Francis back the way she came. Bash’s eyes flickered down. Her choice of Francis hurt and the reinforcement of that choice opened up his wound as he saw the way they gravitated towards each other. He never even had a fighting chance, did he?

Bash is torn back to the present day as he takes in Francis’ figure. His black cloak is lined with a simple gold inlay, a subtle reminder of his stature. When he reaches Mary, he kisses her softly and she smiles against his lips. When they pull away, he rests his forehead against hers, whispering something Bash cannot hear.

“You’re late,” she says when they pull away, reprimanding him as he loops his arm through hers and begins to walk

“I know,” he says, apology written in his gaze. “The Marquis de Rouen is always too talkative. I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right. I understand,” she says.

“Really, I am truly sorry. I feel as though I have not been present for you,” he says, ceasing to walk. Mary looks up at him lovingly. “I’ve been so busy with ruling France, I haven’t been here for you.”

“You needn’t worry about that. I admit, I do miss you at times, but I also have a country to rule. France requires work, but so does Scotland. There are times where you are with your father, and I with my uncle and I feel reassured that we are balancing our countries so well. I miss our walks as well but we both have responsibilities we cannot afford to shirk.”

“ _You_ are my responsibility,” he says then frowns, thinking better of it. “Or at least, she is.”

He can see Mary rolling her eyes good-naturedly before she begins to walk once more.

“You are so certain she is a girl,” she says, shaking her head as she smiles.

“Because she is,” he says defiantly.

“A girl is not useful to a king and queen,” she says bitterly.

“Human beings are not supposed to be _useful_. I don’t care that she will be the future queen of Scotland and France. She’s our daughter and that’s all that matters.”

Realization dawns on Bash as he listens to the conversation. Mary’s messy walk, her hand on her stomach, Francis’ delicate touch. She is with child, and now he can see the bulge beneath her cloak. As they near him, he sees the glow in her eyes. They are warm with happiness, her smile light and carefree. Her shoulders are not burdened and her neck is relaxed, showing off her contentedness. The second realization hits Bash harder. Their wedding was less than a month ago, yet Mary is already showing. This fact is unavoidable. Even while she was engaged to him, she was carrying a piece of Francis inside of her, both mentally and physically. Suddenly, her quick changes in mood, frequent sickness and refusal to eat certain foods all makes sense. Bash did not know how he did not see it before. He blocks out the night of their wedding with a determined fury but her lack of pain for their first time as man and wife proves his thoughts to be true.

“If you’ve decided so adamantly that our child is a girl, you must also have a name ready I assume?”

“Never without your permission, of course,” he replies. She smiles up at him, shaking her head in disbelief before dragging his chin down to hers with a finger. Their lips meet in a short, but sweet kiss.

“Tell me, what is our child’s name to be then?”

“Anne,” he replies and Mary frowns, thinking about it. Not before long, a smile grows on her face. “You like it?”

“I like anything you like for our child,” she says. Francis purses his lips, obviously trying not to smile too widely. “And if it’s a boy?”

“She won’t be,” he says, waving his hand as Mary bursts into laughter.

“You’re ridiculous!” she admonishes and Francis grins down at her with no shame.

“Ah, but you still love me.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she says, teasing him. Francis shakes her head at her before turning and pulling her body closer to his. He cups her cheeks, pulling her face to his. Her forehead rests against his in a moment of peace and quiet and Bash feels as though he is intruding on a very private moment.

So he turns, unable to watch more of Francis and Mary declaring their love for each other without saying the words. 


	5. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> French Court is much too full with bets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the plot of this one, I just couldn't get the pacing right. I may edit it more later since I'm not completely satisfied with it.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, assume Francis and Lola never slept together, Bash and Mary have a strictly brother-sister relationship and Kenna and Bash are not married.

For two people who are monarchs, Francis and Mary are not subtle in their actions.

The throne room is empty but for several servants, Francis, Mary, Bash and Lola. Mary is looking over a map of Scotland as Francis tries to figure out how many companies they can spare for her country. However, their intentions have more behind them than battle formations. The couple moves seamlessly around each other as always but there is more intention in their simple actions. Francis seems to be touching Mary more than necessary and it cannot be a coincidence that Mary's dress falls lower on her chest than usual.

"Your grace?" Lola's careful watching of the two is interrupted by the entrance of a page. "There was a servant found with several of your jewels. She claims that she didn't steal them, but she is not a skilled liar."

"Thank you for telling me, Thomas. Be merciful, but make sure punishment is doled out properly," Mary says simply. The page, Thomas, nods before bowing and exiting. Mary's eyes return to the map but as Francis leans in to her ear and whispers something in it, her posture stiffens and the maps no longer hold her attention. The effect is immediate—Mary's face turns a truly incredible shade of red as Francis pulls away, smirking slightly.  

"Did you hear what he just said to her?" Lola asks Bash, her curiosity piqued. Bash shakes his head. 

"I'm not really sure I want to," he says, shuddering at the thought. Lola frowns, confused. Bash notices her look and sighs before explaining, “I’m not exactly sure how it came about, nor do I want to, but it seems that Mary and Francis are deep into a bet over who can last the longest without…”

Lola gapes at him as he trails off and Bash nods, his nose crinkling in disgust.

“You cannot be serious,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. Lola had heard Mary’s stories of Francis’… skills and was shocked that with their desire for a baby, they were abstaining. But she had long since learned to not question her queen's relationship with the dauphin. If there was anything she and Francis shared, it was there stubbornness. She and Bash watched as Mary subtly brushed past Francis, looking up at him through her lashes. Francis put his hand on her lower back, whispering in her ear about God knows what. As the afternoon went on, Lola and Bash began betting themselves on who would break first.

“If Francis breaks, then you owe me a picnic by the lake and you have to prepare and carry everything,” Lola says quietly, her eyes trained on her friend, who's eyes are staring resolutely forward, obviously trying to ignore her husband's whispers in her ear.

“If Mary breaks, which he will—“

“Which she won’t,” Lola interrupts. Bash rolls his eyes and continues.

“…Then you owe me the same. With the addition of one small favor.”

“And what is that?” she asks, wary.

“A kiss,” he replies simply. Lola's jaw drops, shocked at his candor.

“You’re joking!” she scoffs.

“No,” he says, clasping his hands and looking around the room as if nothing is amiss and his request did not set Lola’s heart beating much too fast. “Unless you’re afraid…”

“No, of course I’m not afraid,” she protests, trying to limit the blush spreading across her cheeks.

“So you accept then?”

“I never said such a thing.”

“Such a shame. I had hope for you yet, Lady Lola,” he says as he shakes his head.

“Fine,” she says boldly. “You’re on. But be prepared to lose. I know my Queen and I know your brother. He will give in, you’ll see.”

“Mary may be stubborn, but she is also impulsive. The draw between my brother and her is too strong for her to pull away.”

“A draw that goes both ways, I think you’ll notice,” Lola shots back and Bash raises an eyebrow, turning towards her.

“Perhaps you are as stubborn as your queen,” he says, smiling slightly.

“No,” she says, “Just loyal.”

With that, Lola winks up at him before walking towards Mary. Bash watches as she leans into whisper something in her friend’s ear. Mary’s eyes widen and her head shoots up. Her eyes flicker to Francis, then back to Lola, speaking quickly. Lola smiles, putting her hand on her friend’s arm reassuringly. Bash barely catches what she says next, her voice slightly raised more than before.

“I am confident in your abilities, your Grace,” Lola says, nodding to her friend before returning to Bash’s side to watch Mary’s next move. Bash is impressed with Lola’s ability to not only reassure Mary but also slight Bash in his confidence. He worries for a moment that his pins too much hope on Mary’s impulsiveness and not enough on Francis’ predictability in the sense of all things Mary, but his fears are assuaged as Francis nears Mary once more. He sees Mary stiffen at Francis’ light touch on her shoulder. Her lips purse, her eyes staring straight ahead as Francis puts his lips to her ear. Bash bites back a smile, proud of his brother. Mary is barely holding herself together as Francis walks away.

“It seems my brother is winning,” Bash says to Lola quietly.

"I wouldn't be so sure..." Lola says, gesturing to the couple before them. Mary is now leaning on the table with the maps and Francis is across from her, giving him full view of her low cut dress. Mary is pointing to various locations on the map, but her chest is directly over the table and in Francis’ line of sight. His lips are pursed, his eyes set on Mary's face, which now conveys a self-satisfied smirk. 

“As much as I enjoy this entertainment, they are quite incorrigible, aren’t they?” Bash says as they watch Mary bite her lip, looking Francis straight in the eye. Lola nods, agreeing, before seeing the darker blue Francis’ have turned. She decides this is the time to leave the couple to their own devices.

“I’ve seen them consummate their marriage before,” she says, “I don’t need to see it again.”

She then walks out of the room, unnoticed by the queen and the dauphin, knowing Bash will follow. They walk over to the windows lining the corridor, watching snow fall in big, thick flakes in the first snow of the year. She shivered slightly from the cold, wrapping her shawl tightly around her arms. Bash looks down at her and opens his mouth to say something. He snaps it shut, obviously rethinking his words. Several awkward minutes pass in silence where Lola thinks over possible things to end this God-awful lack of conversation.

“At least we know marriage has not taken the excitement out of their marriage,” Bash says finally.

“I think it has gotten to the point where I know a little too much about their marriage,” sighs Lola, nodding. “There are certain things you don’t need to know about the future king of France.”

“And your sister-in-law,” Bash adds as he shudders.

Lola opens her mouth to respond when Francis and Mary come out of the throne room. Mary falters in her quick step when she sees the two of them. Her hands fly to her hair, straightening it thoroughly. Francis does the same, trying to tame his curls.

“So tell me, who cracked first?” asks Bash dryly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mary says, blushing and avoiding their gaze.

“So you lost, then?” Bash asks. Francis coughs awkwardly, looking down at his feet. “Ah, so Francis lost.”

“Not exactly…” Francis says. Mary sends him a warning look. “What? They already know!”

“So neither of you lost?” Lola asks.  
  
“We sort of…” Mary trails off, her red cheeks growing darker.

“Let’s just say my desires and Mary’s are…in tune,” Francis says vaguely. Bash raises an eyebrow.

“Well then. That concludes that bet,” says Bash, clasping his hands together. “It’s a shame, Lola, I was so looking forward to winning.”

“You were never going to win!” she scoffs.

“The moment Francis walked into the room, the bet was mine for the taking,” Bash says, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, win what?” Francis asks, looking between the two.

“You just wanted an excuse,” Lola says.  
  
“An excuse for what, exactly?” Bash asks, looking at her questioningly.

“Oh, you know what.”

“No, actually, we don’t,” Mary says, frowning as she looks between them.

“Oh, go to your rooms for God’s sake!” Bash says, brushing the couple off.

“We’re not _that_ insatiable,” Mary says, looking affronted. “What’s going on between you?" 

“A friendly bet,” Lola replies.

“As friendly as mine and Francis’?” Mary retorts, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Lola.

“Don’t _you_ be ridiculous,” Mary shoots back. Lola sends her a look, trying to get her friend to not reveal anything Lola had once told her, quite long ago when Portuguese bastards and English envoys were the only thing in Mary and Francis' way. 

“Let’s leave the young lovers to their bet,” Francis says, trying not to laugh.

“We’re not young lovers!” Bash and Lola say in unison.

“Of course you’re not,” Mary says. “We'll leave you in private then.”

"Yes, I do believe they need some privacy," he says as he sends his brother a look before linking arms with Mary. The couple walks down the corridor towards their rooms, leaving Lola and Bash in their denial. 

“As much as I adore teasing my brother, there is someone else I’d rather be teasing,” Francis says once they round the corner, shifting his eyes to Mary. Mary shakes her head but her lips twitch in a smile at her husband's words. 

“Dear God, we _are_ that insatiable,” Mary says.

“And I am thoroughly indifferent to that fact.”


End file.
